


Neon Lights

by RosePetalsAndRain



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Artist Han Jisung | Han, Cute Han Jisung | Han, Dancer Lee Minho | Lee Know, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Han Jisung | Han & Lee Minho | Lee Know are Best Friends, Lee Minho | Lee Know is Whipped, M/M, Photographer Han Jisung | Han, at least they start off as best friends ;), hella aesthetic, oopsies, this was only supposed to be 3k max
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:13:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27015577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosePetalsAndRain/pseuds/RosePetalsAndRain
Summary: “Have I got it all?”Jisung turns around from where he was crouched at one of three sockets at the wall, in the process of turning off the gold lights, and laughs heartily, having to brace a hand on the wall to keep his balance on the tips of his toes at the sight of Minho standing innocently in the middle of the room, angelic outfit in all its glory paired with a magnificent mess of gold and black just… painted all over his face. It’s like he’d used water instead of makeup remover - or better yet, more makeup. Jisung has no idea how he’d gotten it to be so damn messy.“No, you’ve got a little-” Jisung gestures to his entire face- “just there.”“Then help me! I haven’t got a mirror. I’m helpless, Jisung,” Minho lifts the back of his hand to his forehead and pretends to fall back, weak and sickly.“Oh my life -- come here, you big baby.”
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 27
Kudos: 300
Collections: Minsung





	Neon Lights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [etoileyoongi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoileyoongi/gifts).



> For Anna! Happy birthday baby! I hope you have an incredible day and that this brings some more sunshine into it. I'm so so glad we're friends and you bring so much happiness into my life! Enjoy this fic, i rlly hope you'll love the aesthetics and fluff :D <33 i love u!!!! 
> 
> happy reading, everyone! pls go check out etoileyoongi's works too, and show them some love! <3

"Hyung, come  _ on _ \-- I only have this studio booked for a couple of hours before the next students come in so we have to be prompt," Jisung chastises Minho as he himself staggers with his weighty camera, annoyingly long tripod and two backpacks full of god-only-knows-what weighing him down. Minho smirks at the sight of the younger looking like some form of a cross between a double turtle and a cart horse; reaches out to ruffle the younger's blond locks and stifles a laugh when said boy scrunches his nose in irritation and tries to bite the hand that had messed up his- priorly untouched- hair.

*

A few days ago, Jisung had been assigned a project that needed a photoshoot to accompany his hand-drawn and crafted photography coursework: the theme being  _ lighting _ . Jisung had been struck with a god-tier idea straight away, elation buzzing straight through his veins like fire as he thought about it, and Minho, of course, was the first person who shot into his head for model ideas. Jisung had free reign to choose whether this particular shoot would be with objects or people. It was time to put his hard-earned joint art major to good use - and Minho would be his guinea pig, whether he liked it or not.

Of course, he had wasted no time whatsoever in rushing back to Minho’s dorm room as fast as his legs would carry him, lungs burning and mind racing at a mile per minute until he was finally facing the familiar door to the elder’s room; worn and flaking brown paint greeting him behind the silver numbers that read  _ 325 _ , on the tenth floor of the third campus building. Jisung had it memorised; he had done since the first day he started at the same university as Minho, two years ago. But that's an irrelevant detail; the silver knocker gleamed at Jisung as he spared a fleeting glance at it before foregoing it altogether and pushing the door, giggling when he found it to be unlocked.

This bitch really needs to remember to lock his doors. 

“ _ Minho hyung!” _

“How in fuck’s name did you get in here-” Minho had been cut off as Jisung barrelled into him with all the speed and momentum of a freight truck, knocking him clean off his feet and barelling back onto the worn sofa he had just stood up from. 

“ _ Hyung _ . I need you to be my mug -- I mean, my  _ assistant _ , for my photography project,” Jisung had wasted no time in getting straight to the point, pinning Minho down onto the couch with his entire body weight, spread out like a starfish to make for no room to wiggle out of. Minho had tried that before; Jisung was wiser now.

Minho smirked, his hand coming to card through Jisung’s hair on instinct as Jisung wiggled around on top of him, getting comfy. “And what would being your  _ mug _ include me doing, my dear Jisungie?” 

“Being my  _ assistant _ would mean you’d model for me,” Jisung lifted his head from the couch cushions he had shoved his nose into and took a deep breath of fresher air; air that didn’t feel grainy from being inhaled through thick fabric. “I’ll provide everything! You’ve just gotta turn up… and paint your nails beforehand.” He stopped to rummage around in his hoodie pocket and came back triumphant, a small bottle of stardust pinched between two fingers and a thumb.

Minho pretended to think, more for the purpose of teasing Jisung than anything else, and stroked his chin in a comic exaggeration, humming loudly. Jisung laughed at the ticklish feeling of vibrations being transferred into his body via Minho’s voice, and fell silent, watching and waiting.

“I  _ suppose _ I can make time for you,” Minho said after moments of easy silence as he took the bottle from Jisung’s hand, and the younger made a high-pitched screech of joy, wiggling about to sit up and clap his hands onto Minho’s cheeks, hard enough to make a satisfying sound but not hard enough to hurt at all. 

“Thank you!” he sang, practically vibrating with excitement as he slid off Minho’s lap and onto the floor to sit cross-legged and scroll through Pinterest to gather material inspiration. And that was that; organised within just a few moments, free and easy, just like the two of them.

*

So, here they are, crossing campus to the mysterious buildings that Minho had hardly ever entered -- save from the times he’d come to drag Jisung out of his art studio at ass o’clock in the morning -- and secretly, he’s quite excited to see the rest of the interior of the famous building that’s been branded as the most colourful on campus by  _ miles _ . 

"Need help there, whizz boy?" Comes the teasing question, and Jisung scoffs incredulously, hoisting his second backpack further up his arm to sit back on his shoulder with painful effort.

"You'll drop my supplies."

"I most certainly will not!" Minho defends himself, reaching over to take a backpack and slinging it onto his back before gently pulling the tripod from his friend’s clutch, enabling Jisung to be able to finally stand straight again and walk properly without the risk of tripping and breaking his expensive equipment. Jisung didn't verbally thank the elder, but the grateful look he sent Minho's way speaks volumes that words never could.

"Come  _ on _ , Jisung, we need to go before our time slot runs out!" Minho mocks Jisung, voice whiny and high-pitched as he speed-walks ahead of Jisung, using his own triumphing strength and stamina to purposely annoy him, feeling like he’s won a personal victory when the younger instantly reacts, letting out a small screech of indignance as he hurries to catch up with Minho.

"I can't  _ believe _ you," Jisung huffs, cheeks stained pink and brow furrowed in disbelief. "Come on."

Snickering to himself, Minho speeds up with his admittedly longer legs and keeps a steady pace with the younger as Jisung pulls him into the art and design block by the arm despite there being little need to do so. Perhaps both boys enjoy the physical contact a little more than they should. It goes willfully unacknowledged, either way -- a certain task is at hand and takes priority, as always. 

"Wow, this is really new territory now that I’m actually here in daylight... Am i going to get attacked if any art students see me here?" Minho jokes, and cackles when Jisung whacks his arm.

"I'll be the one attacking you if you don't shut it," Jisung banters back. "I'll make sure it's widely known on campus that Lee Minho, dance major and self-declared art anti, was bashing the art building once granted sacred access."

"You wouldn't dare."

_ "Oh, but I would." _

Continuing their back-and-forth jabs as they walk, Minho internally marvels at the walls and displays lining each corridor they travel through. 

The art block in particular is  _ much _ more colourful than the other buildings on campus, always bursting with colour and texture as flat artworks hang on the walls from past projects, whilst 3D models and structures hang from the ceiling. Each corridor has a separate colour theme; this one in particular is blue, and although each wall is painted the same creamy white colour, the structures are bursting with life, from flat canvases of paintings of the sea and sky to blue wire sculptures of people and buildings. It’s chaos, but such intricately crafted chaos; one can really  _ feel _ the devotion and energy poured into each piece so carefully displayed. It makes Minho walk carefully, slowly; not wanting to touch any of the works themselves, even accidentally, lest he damage them in some way.

"Same," Minho comments suddenly, pointing to an electric blue-coloured wire model of a whale hanging from the ceiling. It’s incredibly lifelike considering the fact it’s made purely of metal wire, and about as long as Minho is tall. Jisung snickers.

"Okay... here we are," Jisung announces, pulling a keychain from his jeans pocket and unlocking a door; room number 44. "Studio eight. Hopefully no-one's taken down my preparations from last night."

Minho follows the younger through the door, barely registering Jisung's vocal sounds of joy at his preparation being left alone all night as he takes in Jisung’s hard work.

Somehow, using only blue-tack and _quite_ a few extension cables, Jisung had managed to cover the walls with line after line _after_ _line_ of fairy lights -- and had also _somehow_ managed to hang them from the ceiling too, draping them in either bunting-like loops or leaving the ends dangling like ivy from a castle wall. Minho has to duck to avoid the first ivy-like trail as he gapes, having no words to describe his awe right now. The lights haven’t even been turned _on_ yet, and still the room is completely transformed from the usual plain, flat walls that every other studio is made up of.

"How did you do all of this?" Minho breathes, and the sight of his unhidden awe makes Jisung puff his chest out with pride.

"Well, I did have  _ some _ help. Yeosang and Seungcheol helped me, and we had to get Hyunjin in too for the ceiling...after I fell off a chair trying to reach." The last part of the sentence is spoken quietly, bashful words tumbling from Jisung’s lips and making Minho cackle at the mental image the younger seemed reluctant to relinquish.

"Dumbass," Minho snarks, far too amused at the thought of Jisung's tiny form standing on a chair, stretching valiantly for the ceiling before tripping and falling to the ground. "Be careful next time."

"Ok, fine hyung - let me just figure out which ones are coloured and then I'll get you all prepared too.” Jisung moves to sit on the floor, cross-legged as he switches on various plugs to observe which lights shine in muted, yet bright colours, and which ones stay in shades of gold and white. On the coloured plugs, he sticks white circular stickers no bigger than his thumbnail to keep track. 

The way Jisung is crouched over, expertly flicking lights on and off and marking them down in their separate colour themes, gives him an air of expertise that surprises Minho, given that Jisung is literally  _ just _ turning lights on and off at the moment. But either way: Jisung is here, they’re here in Jisung’s element, and it’s like a switch has been flipped within the younger, too. His clothes: oversized, of course - a huge, paint-stained yellow hoodie that may as well be a duvet cover than an item of clothing, ripped jeans and blocky converse - make him look every bit the art major that he is, and Minho feels something akin to pride surge in his chest at the sight.

"So I was thinking we should do the gold and white theme first -- in that blue backpack just there you'll find the clothes I want you to wear for the first concept," Jisung speaks through the pen he has clenched between his teeth as he fiddles with a socket, and so the words come out slightly thicker than usual. "Just put them on and I'll do your makeup afterwards."

"What, right here?"

"I'm your best friend-" Jisung takes the pen out from between his teeth, "- you act like we haven't changed in front of each other before… But if you do want privacy, there’s a bathroom in the Yellow corridor.”

Minho mutters under his breath as he reluctantly opens the backpack and pulls out different items of clothing. Really, he has no problems changing in front of his best friend- and it’s not like he has any idea whatsoever as to where the Yellow corridor is- but what if another student were to walk in and see him?

“The door’s locked, don’t worry. No one will spontaneously walk in,” Jisung speaks up again, and Minho visibly relaxes; it’s like the younger read his mind somehow.

In the end, Minho ends falling over himself and bashing his arm  _ hard _ on the floor as he tries to whip off his jeans (black, skinny: not to be rushed when undressing, make a note), and he mock-scowls as Jisung promptly howls with laughter, almost bringing down an entire line of fairy lights from the wall in the throes of mirth.

"Think this is funny, do you, Mr. I Fell Off a Chair because I'm Too Small to Reach The Ceiling?" Minho quirks, pulling the bunched-up jeans off his ankles with a sharp tug before reaching to pull his shirt over his head. His pride is immediately won back at the sight of Jisung immediately sobering up and turning red before turning  _ away _ , back to the wall as Minho (maybe purposefully) stands proud and underwear-clad before him.

_ That’s what I thought. _

  
  


In the end, Minho ends up wearing another pair of skinny jeans- though this time they’re white- paired with a white, fluffy polar neck sweater and multiple gold chain necklaces, with half of the chains buried in the volume of fluffy material exuding from his clothes. His feet are left bare, save from the white ankle-rise socks that insulate the skin there instead of walking barefoot on the cold studio floor. Everything fits like a glove - which is suspicious, as Minho  _ knows _ Jisung’s own clothes sizes are a good few sizes below his own. 

“Ji.”

“Yes?”

“Did you buy these clothes specifically for me?” Minho raises his eyebrow accusingly, and Jisung laughs nervously, avoiding eye contact from where he’s sitting cross-legged next to the light sockets.

“No.”

“Then  _ why- _ ” Minho stalks up behind the younger and ruffles his hair, crouching down so he can whisper straight into Jisung’s ear, “-does this outfit fit  _ perfectly _ ?”

“You’re hallucinating,” Jisung insists, and Minho barks out a laugh, sudden and enough to send Jisung reeling to the side from the sheer volume right into his ear. “ _ Ow-” _

“Whatever you say, Hannie,” Minho gets back up and walks back over to the backpack he’d pulled his clothes from, rifling through it. “I think there’s only makeup left in here, anyhow.”

“Ah!” Jisung reaches for the bag after shuffling over on his butt, and rifles through it, coming up with handfuls upon handfuls of supplies and colours. “Sit down, please- over there, with your back against the wall. But try not to lean too heavily or you’ll bring the lights down.”

Leaning against the wall is definitely more stressful than Minho had originally anticipated; though every string of lights is held up with strong blue-tack, he feels as if putting any weight at all onto the surface behind him will cause the entire wall of lights to come crashing down at once. Jisung notices his hesitancy and chuckles, gentle hands pressing at his chest to push him back so that his full weight rests against their backdrop.

“They’re not gonna fall down just from you leaning on them, don’t worry,” Jisung laughs, and Minho laughs too, feeling the lights in ridges along his back stay strong in spite of his additional bodyweight as the notes of their happiness mingle together and make for a playful harmony in the cool air surrounding them.

“Time to further enhance your beauty,” The younger announces, and Minho’s heart flutters at the indirect compliment as he shifts about to get comfy, not quite knowing what to do with his legs- do he settles for settling with them straight out in front of him, his body effectively forming an L-shape. Jisung huffs lightly at the inconvenience of his position- now it’s going to be even harder to sit right in front of him for full access to his face- before an idea strikes him and he cackles, eyes lighting up with mischief. 

“Whatever it is, no,” Minho deadpans, but then Jisung is moving forwards, swinging one leg over Minho’s waist and- oh. He’s straddling him. Perhaps he should backtrack on that previous  _ no.. _ .

Once Jisung settles with a satisfied noise in the back of his throat, Minho brings his legs up, folding at the knee to make a comfortable crevice that Jisung can lean back in without falling backwards.

“Ah, thanks for the back support,” Jisung teases, purposely leaning right back against Minho’s legs and feeling his knees poke into his spine. “And this self-directed massage. Wow, I’ll have to squash you like this more often…”

Both friends are  _ hyper  _ aware of the fact that if anybody were to look in on them now, they would without a doubt look like a couple. In a way, Minho  _ wants _ someone to walk in right now; the thought of the two seeming like a couple to even  _ one _ person sounding melodic in his head; far more melodic than the erratic beat of his heart that’s thrumming within his ears at the intimate position they’re in right now. 

Jisung drags the first backpack closer and delves inside it, a series of clinking and tinkling noises spilling out from within the fabric confines as he rummages around for what he needs; his hands emerging stuffed fuller than his cheeks when he’s eating cheesecake, bursting with colour. 

“Okay, so for this first shoot I’m gonna just do a natural look but more  _ golden _ than normal, if that makes sense,” Jisung explains, already having dumped every palette, brush and bottle into their laps with a small crash, “Like… glowy, if that makes sense. But a little supernatural.” 

“Sounds cool, go wild,” Minho approves, and then Jisung is leaning forward, and they’re close.  _ So close. _ Minho truly hadn’t thought this through  _ at all _ as Jisung holds his head still and steady with one hand and uses the other to apply a thin layer of foundation. 

The younger of the two looks so concentrated like this; eyes slightly scrunched and brow furrowed in concentration, so  _ focused _ that it leaves Minho breathless already and it hasn’t even been a full minute yet. 

The silence blanketing the room becomes loud in Minho’s ears, broken only by the sounds of Jisung working, and Minho grows restless far too quickly with the lack of distraction.

"What if I just sneezed, like, right now?" Minho teases, needing something to break the rising feeling of overwhelming adrenaline fighting its way up his chest. 

"I would not hesitate to garrotte you with my fairy lights.” 

Minho tries to keep still as he chuckles, letting his arms come up and loop comfortably around the younger's waist. "No sneezing then."

It takes another half hour before Jisung decides he’s happy with the look: thirty long, not-so agonising minutes of Minho bearing the welcome weight of Jisung in his lap, centimetres from his face and painting intricate lines onto his skin with the smallest brush Minho thinks he’s ever seen in his  _ life _ . The sensation was honestly calming, tiny wet strokes of repetition around his eyes, lips and the edges of his cheeks accompanied by small puffs of air hitting his collarbones and neck every time Jisung breathes out. Minho is surrounded with colour, warmth and the faint smell of spearmint, and truth be told, he doesn’t want to move; he could stay here like this for  _ hours _ if time allowed him to.

“Okay, I think we’re done for this one,” Jisung speaks up, the sound suddenly loud in the serenity of the room, velvety against the smooth quiet that had priorly enveloped the two in. Jisung uses the hand holding Minho’s face steady to tilt it in every direction, going up, down and in a full circle to inspect every brushstroke he had created before a single, tiny nod followed, with another noise of appreciation betraying just how happy Jisung is with his work. 

And  _ god _ , does Minho love Jisung’s tiny sounds.

However, regrettably for Minho, Jisung stands up then, and his legs feel awfully cold without the warm weight pinning him down to reality. He watches Jisung with eyes akin to a lost puppy as the younger stands and walks to the other side of the room to retrieve his camera and tripod, setting the black stand up with deft hands and sure fingers that suggests he’s done this many a time before. 

"Hey, could you close those blinds over there? I need the room as dark as possible," Jisung asks, leaving the camera standing before crouching at the plug sockets to turn each string of fairy lights on, one by one: the room slowly becomes illuminated with golden light, and Minho can’t help but gasp at the soft, heavenly light shining from the walls; minuscule stars just waiting to be traced by an eager finger. He walks over to the window and pulls the blackout blind down, and watches in wonder as the room becomes pitch-black, save from the gentle lights spilling out from the tiny wires on every wall. They’re standing in a golden abyss, and you could not convince Minho that he  _ hadn’t _ just entered an entirely new plane of reality.

Jisung, grinning and ecstatic that his lighting plan worked, picks up his camera and practically skips over to the elder, ignoring the tripod that was supposed to be  _ for _ his camera in the first place in favour of keeping the solid weight in both hands, cupping it protectively as he bounces on his tiptoes to get Minho’s attention.

"Ok, so first of all I want you to stand over here if that’s okay," He gestures to the wall nearest to them, and Minho complies easily, standing with his back to the lights and patiently awaiting his next instructions, smiling to himself as Jisung takes the lead and loops his camera around his neck via the carry-on strap attached to it, using his newly freed hands to move Minho’s arms and face around; his head tilted slightly to the right, and one arm bent over his forehead, the back of his hand resting against his temple. His other arm curls up beneath his chin, one single outstretched finger resting against the skin next to his mouth. He feels strange, vaguely like a mannequin, but Jisung seems immensely happy with the outcome, and orders Minho to stand still whilst he takes pictures. 

“I’m just going to turn the flash on,” Jisung warns, before crouching a few steps away from Minho, who keeps his expression neutral as multiple flashes go off in quick succession, the small  _ click click clicking _ of the camera shutter being the only other source of noise in the room otherwise consumed with concentration and starry eyes. 

Jisung turns the flash off again before stepping closer to Minho, bringing the camera into his personal bubble and snapping a few close-ups of his face. “Hey, Minho, just close your eyes ever so slightly- yeah- like that. Hooded eyelids. Yep --  _ yes!  _ Perfect.” Minho has no idea what he currently looks like, but judging by the excitement sparkling in Jisung’s eyes, it’s definitely good. 

“Look at these!! You look  _ amazing _ , hyung,” Jisung exclaims, and turns the camera around to show Minho his work so far -- and Minho blinks, once, twice,  _ five _ times; there’s no way the person on the screen is him.

He’s wearing the same clothes; has the same hair, the same nose and the same earrings dangling from his lobes: yep, it’s Minho alright. But his  _ face _ … Minho has to bite back a gasp as he sees the art Jisung has created on the smooth canvas of his skin. 

His complexion is even and glowy; Minho suspects Jisung used some form of liquid highlight to achieve that effect, and his eyes have been filled in with black and grey, an intense smoky look that’s then offset by the layers of gold leaf he’s stuck on top of the shadow with makeup glue. It makes for a very textured look, and Minho’s fingers trace the line of gold leaf all the way back to his temples on both eyes, outlining but not daring to touch lest he ruin the delicate artwork that Jisung has spent so much time on.

Once reaching his temple, the gold leaf begins to taper out, giving an illusion effect as it enters his hair, and-  _ oh _ , Minho hadn’t even  _ realised  _ that Jisung had woven spider web-thin strands of gold thread into his hair too, godly cobwebs hanging among the strands and mingling with the excess gold peppered into the strands there too. 

His lips are slicked with a thick layer of clear gloss that makes them look like they’re made of  _ glass _ , and his eyelashes have been curled and coated in a layer of electric blue mascara, making them appear even fuller and longer than they usually are - and as a final touch Jisung has used a tiny brush to dot a smattering of almost invisible freckles across his nose and cheekbones. 

In short, Minho looks  _ ethereal. _ Even he has no problem admitting that to himself, and Jisung watches him with a soft grin as the elder takes himself in via the photos. 

“That’s  _ me? _ ” Minho screeches, bringing one hand to touch where he recognises the faux freckles to be and running featherlight fingers over the matte skin there.

“All you, no filters or editing at all. Fresh as a daisy,” Jisung laughs. “Now come on. Next pose, please! Act natural.”

Another thirty minutes pass as Minho imitates the poses he’s seen various models and idols execute in their own official photoshoots, and just for a moment, he lets himself picture a life wherein photoshoots like these, where he’d get all made up and dressed especially, and posing in front of one camera,  _ multiple _ cameras, would come as naturally to him as breathing air. 

A parallel universe… in another life, maybe Minho could get used to this. 

For now, though, he is perfectly content to simply let Jisung be the only person who takes photos of him like this; is perfectly comfortable with being made up in front of the person he trusts the most. He’ll happily model for the younger again if it’s going to be this fun, and this strangely...  _ intimate _ , every time. It’s a strange feeling. 

“Okay, I think we have enough for this look, and conveniently, we’re around halfway through the allotted time frame,” Jisung announces after checking the time on his phone. “We have ample time for the next shoot… now, I’m gonna need you to take your makeup off.”

“Really?” Minho pouts. “I really like this gold you’ve stuck onto me.”

“I think you’ll really like the next look, too!” Jisung pulls a bottle of micellar makeup remover from the second backpack, along with some washable cotton cloths. “Here you go.”

Minho pretends to huff, but there’s no venom behind his actions as he takes the soft cloth and cool bottle from Jisung’s hands and puts the two together, rubbing gently at his face and closed eyes to rub off as much of the pigment and gold leaf as possible. It feels freeing; his skin feels cleaner as layers of makeup are washed away. It’s soothing; therapeutic, in a way. 

“Have I got it all?”

Jisung turns around from where he was crouched at one of three sockets at the wall, in the process of turning off the gold lights, and laughs heartily, having to brace a hand on the wall to keep his balance on the tips of his toes at the sight of Minho standing innocently in the middle of the room, angelic outfit in all its glory paired with a magnificent mess of gold and black just…  _ painted _ all over his face. It’s like he’d used water instead of makeup remover - or better yet,  _ more makeup _ . Jisung has no idea how he’d gotten it to be so damn messy.

“No, you’ve got a  _ little-” _ Jisung gestures to his entire face- “just there.”

“Then help me! I haven’t got a mirror. I’m  _ helpless _ , Jisung,” Minho lifts the back of his hand to his forehead and pretends to fall back, weak and sickly. 

“Oh my life -- come here, you big baby.”

“ _ Thank  _ you,” Minho grinned, having gotten exactly what he wanted- and he knows Jisung is aware of the fact, too, judging by the way he rolls his eyes and smiles back as he plucks the cloths and remover from Minho’s hands and gets to work immediately, taking care to wipe gently at the soft skin beneath Minho’s eyes and on his cheeks. 

“You can press harder, my skin isn’t going to tear,” Minho giggles, bringing a hand up to poke, then squish one of Jisung’s cheeks between his fingers. “You’re so gentle.”

“I’d rather be too gentle than accidentally hurt you,” Jisung says simply, and Minho honestly feels a little awestruck by the genuineness in his words; the fond undertone hitting him square in the chest and making renewed shockwaves of  _ feelings _ shaking through his body, and it’s  _ so hard _ to not just grab Jisung right there and then, and wrap him up in a hug that will protect him from every evil in the world.

“Oh.”

The silence grows thick then, and Minho hopes he’s not the only one who’s feeling this….  _ tug _ towards the other. It’s hard to ignore, but what else  _ can _ he do? It’s not like he can simply follow through with the feeling without being sure that Jisung wants the same thing. He shakes himself mentally; stands up a little straighter. 

He won’t make a move on his best friend. No way. Not without explicit consent and knowledge that Jisung returns his feelings. 

“You’re all done,” Jisung says quietly, when he’s finished, and steps back, putting the cloths in all their soiled glory into the front pocket of his second backpack for lack of other places to put them until he can wash them back at his dorm room. He then stands and tosses the entire bag at Minho with a snicker, and laughs when Minho catches it as if he’d been expecting it the entire time… and well, perhaps he  _ had _ . “The second outfit is in that bag.”

The second outfit in question is a sharp contrast to the first; an oversized black jumper made of soft wool comes first, and when Minho pulls it over his head he chuckles to find the neckline being so oversized that it falls right down and slips off one shoulder, exposing his collarbones. This is tucked into dark pink stretched vinyl trousers that mould perfectly to his leg shape and flatter his muscle structure, and although Minho can’t  _ see _ himself right now, he feels like he must look pretty fucking hot already. 

“I’m done,” he notices Jisung, who had been respectfully shielding his eyes to grant the elder his privacy, a small black loop hanging from his fingertips. 

“Ah, good, here-” Jisung begins, but chokes on his spit when he brings his hands away from his face, locking eyes with Minho’s outfit and  _ spiralling _ . 

“You good?” Minho speeds over and whacks him on the back a couple of times, concerned at how red the younger’s face became so fast. 

“All good, all -- all good,” Jisung stutters, holding up the hand with the black loop hanging from it. Upon further inspection, Minho finds that it’s a thick velvet choker that ties at the back. “I was gonna ask you to put this on, too, and then we’ll get started on your makeup.”

“All good, chief,” Minho complies cheerfully,  _ very _ much enjoying the way Jisung now absolutely refuses to make eye contact as he scurries back over to his makeup bag and behind to pull out more brushes and more colourful palettes. “What’s the theme for this one?”

“Neon,” is all Jisung says, the grin clear in his words even though Minho can’t see his face. 

“Lead the way, then,” Minho replies, sitting back down against the wall and patting his lap invitingly, more than eager to have Jisung close to him again. It’s the small indulgences. 

Jisung blushes. “I’m not sitting on you again.”

“Aw, why not?”

“Not when you’re wearing skin-tight vinyl pants.”

“I wore skinny jeans last time, what’s the difference?” Minho wiggles his legs about and waggles his eyebrows in synchrony, smirking with mischief at the exasperation in Jisung’s eyes. 

With an under-the-breath mutter of  _ I can’t believe you, _ Jisung takes a deep breath and swings his legs over Minho’s again - but this time he refuses to sit down; compromising with just kneeling over his friend instead of sitting down for reasons that he’d much rather not think about. 

“Close your eyes,” he instructs, and Minho obeys as he feels Jisung applying another layer of primer to his face before he attacks with the beauty blender of foundation again. 

“I apologise to your pores in advance.”

“My pores accept your apology.”

The foundation is cold, but Jisung’s body radiates the type of warmth that one could feel straight to your core, burning through any sort of ice surrounding your body in the moment. It makes Minho want to arch his back and lean into it; feel himself be enveloped within the comforting aura. 

“You’re warm, Sungie,” Minho remarks, sliding his arms around Jisung’s oh-so slender waist and linking his hands at the back, letting his limbs hang loosely and securely around Jisung’s body in the loosest of embraces. “What colours are you putting on my face this time? Are you going to put more gold on me?”

“No gold, but I  _ do _ have glow in the dark paint I’m going to use,” Jisung cackles, brandishing several tubs of the stuff with clumsy hands. One tub - green, Minho notices - falls from the unbalanced pile in Jisung’s grasp and tumbles to the floor, bouncing once before rattling in small, noisy circles. Minho smacks it and holds it down onto the floor to get it to stop moving, grinning at Jisung’s giggles at the noise. 

“I liked that sound. It was a zig-zaggy sound… okay, hold still.” Jisung cups Minho’s face to keep it from moving again and leans in close, eyes screwing half-closed in intense focus as he holds his minuscule brush up again - Minho  _ swears _ it’s only two bristles thick - and begins with Minho’s eyelids first, making the elder close them before he begins painting. 

The black darkness of his eyelids is strange when Minho focuses on it. Like, really focuses. If he thinks  _ really _ hard, it’s like he’s not really in the room at all. The only proof that he’s really  _ there _ , in the studio with Jisung, is the warm weight of Jisung’s hand on his face and the small yet steady brushstrokes as his friend paints bright colours onto his skin. 

It’s also strange how Minho can feel each and every individual brushstroke, yet has absolutely no idea what Jisung is painting on him at all. Logically, he can feel the directions; tell the larger strokes apart from the more intricate details, but overall, he couldn’t tell a circle from a tree. It’s kind of like life, he thinks… you always have a sense of vague direction, but overall, you only ever see the big picture when it’s finished. 

The brushstrokes stop. Time seems to slow to a stop as Minho feels Jisung shift - he feels his warmth increase; he’s obviously closer than before, and the loss of the brush on his face leaves his skin feeling cold as the cool air hits the new layers of paint spanning down one side of his face. 

Jisung’s tiny puffs of breath feel closer; the smell of spearmint just slightly stronger and for a moment, Minho is terrified to open his eyes.

Terrified to open them and find that what he’s sensing… isn’t really there at all. 

“Ji?” his voice manages to crack on the singular syllable and the warmth vanishes, as if a switch has been flipped. 

“All done,” Jisung sounds breathless, and Minho tears his eyes open to find that his cheeks are painted red as the face paint in the tub next to them. Jisung wastes no time in clambering to his face, pretending to be immersed in scrubbing a speck of paint off his finger instead of looking anywhere near Minho’s face, and the elder chuckles. 

“Is everything good?”

Jisung turns to the wall, crouching and dipping his head so that his face is covered by his hair. “Yeah, everything’s fine. You just had… something on your face,” he offers explanation as he fiddles with the switches next to the plug sockets, turning on the coloured sets of lights and watching as the room instantly becomes coloured; bathed in pinks and blues and greens and yellows; neon and vibrant and  _ loud. _

Minho doesn’t bother to comment on the fact that Jisung had had no idea what Minho had addressed in the first place. His response alone is enough to confirm Minho’s suspicions, and honestly, he’s glad of the younger’s distraction, and of the layers of makeup that conveniently hide his own, matching, blush.

“Okay, so now we --  _ YES _ ,” Jisung interrupted his own sentence to stand and stare, wide-eyed, at Minho’s makeup. “It really  _ does _ glow in the dark, holy shit -  _ wow,  _ this is  _ incredible-” _ he stops to pull out his phone, too impatient to take a photo with his camera, and flips the camera around to selfie mode. “LOOK!” 

Minho’s face is a sculpted continuous line  _ masterpiece. _ Somehow, Jisung has managed to get each glowing colour to seamlessly blend into the other in thread-thin lines, from the winged eyeliner tracing his eyelids down to trace beneath his cheekbones, across his jawline and then down the centre of his throat, organised scribbles contouring out his bone structure and making his features seem beautifully angular and  _ so intricate _ that Minho has to stop himself from bringing a hand to trace the lines there, fearful of smudging the impossibly thin lines that must have taken  _ so much patience _ from Jisung to create. 

But it doesn’t stop there - the paint has also been splattered in controlled amounts onto his forehead, into his hair and along his collarbones and shoulders so that the glowing colours are framed by the loose fabric falling off his shoulders. As well as having the paint worked into his hair, there’s also glitter: silver glitter that Minho knows will take months to rid himself of, but he can’t bring himself to care in the slightest as he takes in the entire look, barely holding back a gasp. 

“How in the  _ world _ did you get those lines so intricately done?” Minho whispers as his hands hover over the pure  _ art _ that Jisung has made him into. 

“Years and years of practise,” Jisung whispers, and somehow the simple confession feels like a secret shared between them. Wordlessly, the younger holds his camera up between them, and Minho walks over to the wall closest to them automatically, waiting for Jisung to loop the camera back around his neck and instruct him on how to pose next. 

The first pose is simple: Minho stands still, back ramrod-straight and head tilted back, eyes closed and lips just barely parted. Jisung makes sound after sound of appreciation as he captures the sight with the flash both on and off, loud through Minho’s eyelids as he stands, frozen and hardly daring to breathe. 

“I’m going to experiment with the shutter speed, so could you move about for these next shots? I’ll tell you when to stop moving,” Jisung explains. “At a faster shutter speed, your movements will be recorded onto one photo, so hopefully, we’ll make you look ghostly, like stop motion all in one frame.”

Shutter speed definitely isn’t a term Minho was familiar with, but he thinks he gets the general gist of what Jisung’s conveying. With the tripod already set up, all Jisung has to do is place his camera on top and change the shutter settings before he’s nodding at Minho, giving him the go ahead. 

They’re both laughing before anything’s even begun, so when Minho starts shimmying and shaking his shoulders in rapid succession, Jisung’s laugh echoes extra loud around the room, the sound only fuelling Minho go shake his torso harder from side to side as the camera shutter snaps in satisfying clicking noises at what sounds like fifty times per second. 

“Okay, okay, stop, it’s stopped,” Jisung begs, holding up a hand as he wheezes, bent double with mirth. Minho grins and skips over to the camera to take a look at their creation - and the result is almost otherworldly, or at least on another plane of dimension. The image looks ghostly, with no solid body existing; simply outlines with no infill of every point Minho’s body had stopped at. Combined with the glowing paint, Minho really does look just like an outline of himself; a template without a physical body. It’s a strange concept to consider.

“For the next picture could you spin around in circles? - But try and stay in one spot.”

“Sungie, you forget that I’m a dance major. Of  _ course _ I can stay in one place.”

What Jisung had  _ expected _ was for Minho to use  _ both feet _ to dance in circles. Like any normal person would. But what he  _ got _ was Minho putting his years of dancing expertise into practise and performing a series of perfect  _ pirouettes _ in quick succession, ending with a neatly executed positioning of his hands and feet; professional and clean. 

“You-”

“Yes. Did I do okay, Hannie?” Minho asks innocently, widening his eyes beyond human naturality to really comicalise his nonchalance. 

Jisung makes a series of high-pitched noises of exasperation before turning to his camera. “Literally perfect. Impossibly so- how in the  _ world- _ ”

“Practise makes perfect, chief,” Minho winks badly, and Jisung laughs again, muttering something under his breath that Minho doesn’t quite catch. It’s fine. It’s of little consequence. 

“Okay, I’ll do some close-ups now, and then we’ll do some more of the shutter photos,” Jisung instructs, and if Minho’s being completely honest, he  _ really _ likes seeing this more assertive side of Jisung. In everyday life the younger is more laid back and has more of a “whatever happens, happens” approach to things; seeing him in his artistic element is certainly a contrast to such a relaxed attitude. It’s refreshing, and Minho mentally adds it to the list of things that makes Jisung so  _ perfect _ . 

Jisung fiddles with his camera, wrestling it off the tripod stand and changing the settings with deft fingers, and his brow scrunches in adorable concentration; lips pouting unconsciously. His hair falls back into his face, blond locks tickling his lashline and forehead, and that same feeling from before bubbles up in Minho’s chest, thick and consuming yet  _ safe _ , and it’s all Minho can do but restrain himself from kissing Jisung right then and there. 

The younger is completely oblivious to Minho’s inner battle as he triumphs over the camera settings with a grin and stands up straight again, holding the lens up to Minho’s eye level and instructing him to  _ stand still, look just above the camera; let your mouth fall open just slightly. _

_ Click.  _

_ Click. _

_ Click.  _

The sound is repetitive, and each one comes out evenly spaced, as if Jisung is timing each shot to be the same amount of time apart as the next. Perhaps he is; Minho knows how he likes things to be evened out, where possible.

Jisung keeps stepping closer, the shots now more of individual parts of Minho’s face than of his face as a whole, and the toes of their feet knock together; Jisung’s converse against Minho’s socks, and Minho  _ knows _ the tiny gasp he lets out doesn’t go unnoticed by Jisung. If anything, Jisung is just as affected by the physical indicator of their proximity - his grip tightens on the camera visibly, and he messes up the shot he was taking. 

“Ah, dammit,” he mumbles, and lowers the camera to check the previous photo; see if it would be worth keeping or deleting before taking anymore. 

Minho’s entire being is still fizzing with the same feeling from before; the need to be  _ closer _ and close every inch - every millimetre - of distance between them becoming overwhelming to say the least. Jisung is  _ so close _ , and this weird tension that’s been sitting between them since they stepped foot in the studio is only getting thicker. It’s not going anywhere. 

“Jisung,” Minho whispers, and Jisung’s head shoots up, gasping quietly as his eyes widen and he registers just how close the two of them are. Their noses just barely brush, and Minho’s skin tickles where they touch. Jisung’s eyes flicker down to Minho’s lips - once, then twice, as if they’re drawn by an invisible magnet, and Minho feels that maybe - just maybe - this feeling between them really  _ is _ reciprocated.

Perhaps it has been for some time now. 

Minho is the one to lean in, but Jisung meets him halfway; neither having to move more than a few centimetres forward for their lips to connect: soft, strawberry-flavoured lips meeting glassy, gloss-slicked ones in an innocent, careful kiss. Minho’s hands shoot out to wrap around Jisung’s waist on instinct, and Jisung keeps hold of his camera with one hand, but allows his free arm to wander, settling on Minho’s shoulder before sliding up to cup the back of his neck. 

The kiss is sticky - full of lip gloss and glitter, but when Minho feels Jisung sigh minutely against his lips, he knows that he would happily carry on kissing him like this for eternity. The feelings from before suddenly overflow; they crawl up his body and overtake him, causing Minho to deepen the kiss and hold Jisung that little bit tighter as the younger whines quietly into his mouth, his hand moving from Minho’s neck to his hair, where he tugs, just slightly. 

It takes another few moments before Jisung pulls away, and his fingertips are stained with glowing paint; his eyes wide and reflecting the lights that surround them like hundreds of coloured spotlights and his lips slicked with the lipgloss Minho had previously been wearing. Minho’s makeup is inevitably smudged, but the imperfections make him look achingly more perfect than before as his eyes reflect Jisung, and only Jisung: they both have stars in their eyes; reflected onto their skin and absorbed into their hearts and memories and hair. But the biggest star of all is the boy reflected in the others’ eyes, and just like the sun, they both know that the unspoken love burning between them will not be burning out anytime soon. 

  
  
  


_ [ “Would it be horribly cheesy to wax poetic about how beautiful you look right now?” _

_ “You’re literally the one covered in glowing paint and glitter, so I’d say it would be more ironic than cheesy.” _

_ “You don’t need all of this to look absolutely perfect. Can I kiss you again?”  _

_ “You may.” ] _

**Author's Note:**

> minho, looking absolutely godlike in the clothes and looks jisung picked out especially for him: how do i look :D
> 
> jisung, absolutely spiralling into gay panic despite being completely aware that he brought this upon himself: fuckque


End file.
